James McIntyre

Where the young lady waiters were dressed as dairymaids
Throughout the world they do
The fame of our town Ingersoll,
The capital of dairyland,

Goldsmith wrote Deserted Village, Now again reduced to tillage; Once happiest village of the plain, Place now you look for it in vain; There but one man he doth make rich, And hundreds struggle in the ditch; "Ill fare the land to many ills a ...

We have scarcely time to tell thee     Of the strange and gifted Shelley,     Kind hearted man, but ill-fated,     So youthful drowned and cremated

We have seen the Queen of cheese, Laying quietly at your ease, Gently fanned by evening breeze — Thy fair form no flies dare seize
All gaily dressed soon you'll go To the great Provincial Show, To be admired by many a beau In the city of Toro...

The farmers now should all adornA few fields with sweet southern corn,
It is luscious, thick and tall,
The beauty of the fields in fall
For it doth make best ensilage,

My friends, we sing Canadian themes,
For in them we proudly glory;
Her lakes, her rivers and her streams,
Worthy of renown in story

When Father Ranney left the States,
In Canada to try the fates,
He settled down in Dereham,
Then no dairyman lived near him;

It almost now seems all in
For to expect high price for grain,
Wheat is grown on Egyptian
On the banks of mighty Nile

Like fruit that's large and ripe and mellow, Sweet and luscious is Longfellow, Melodious songs he oft did pour, And high was his Excelsior
He shows us in his psalm of life The folly of our selfish strife; With Hiawatha we bewail His suffering...

Cows suffered in the days of
For want of water and from cold,
Now of good water they have
For it is pumped by the windmill

If you are sulky,
Nova Scotia,     We'll gladly let you float away     From out our Confederation;     You sicken us with sily agitation
If any more our patience you do tax     We'll let you go to Halifax

When this country it was woody,     Its great champion,
Mrs
Moody,     She showed she had both pluck and push,     In her work, roughing in the bush
For there all alone she will dwell,     At time